I Hope Your Lungs are Open
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Or five times Regulus relied on nicotine for comfort, and one time, too late, he discovered a second addiction.:: for Gabby


_Assignment 3, bioscience task 1: Write about an addiction_

 _For Gabby_

 _Word Count: 1091_

* * *

I.

Regulus lets his legs dangle over the ledge of the Astronomy Tower. Barty keeps a safe distance, though he keeps his eyes locked on Regulus.

"Scared to fall, Barty?" Regulus teases, plucking a cigarette from the pack nestled in his shirt pocket. He tucks it between his lips and lights it, inhaling deeply.

Instead of answering, the other boy contorts his features into a mask of disgust. "Do you have to do that?" he demands, waving his hand at the smoke.

"Yep. Do you know what withdrawal feels like, Barty?" Regulus asks. "It's not fun. Now, come sit with me."

Barty doesn't move. Regulus rolls his eyes. He knows his boyfriend is scared of heights, but that shouldn't mean Barty can't accompany him.

"Suit yourself," Regulus says with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He leans back, taking a drag from his cigarette before exhaling a cloud of white-blue smoke.

II.

"That's such a disgusting habit," Barty says.

But Regulus isn't listening, not really. There's too much on his mind, and the nicotine burning his throat is the only thing that seems to keep him sane. He inhales, wincing as the cigarette burns down to the filter, and the sudden heat stings his fingers. The moment he crushes it beneath his shoe, he places another cigarette between his lips, lighting up.

"Isn't that a bit excessive?" Barty asks.

Maybe it is; it doesn't feel like it. Regulus had started chain smoking the night before, after his discussion with his parents. There's a weight on his shoulders now, and he's scared it's going to destroy him.

"Reg?" Barty places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? You usually have something smart to say."

Regulus pulls the cigarette from his mouth, scraping his thumbnail over the filter. The ash catches in the summer breeze, drifting along. "My parents want me to join the Dark Lord."

Barty's face grows pale. He pushes a hand through his sandy blond hair, thin lips pursing. For several moments, he doesn't speak. When he finally does, all he can say is, "Shit."

Under normal circumstances, it would be funny. Barty is always so eloquent, but the shock seems to be too much to process. "Never thought I'd see you speechless," Regulus muses, and he offers Barty a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"What are you going to do?"

Regulus drops the cigarette to the ground, crushing it just like the last. "You should get back home," he says. "Don't worry about me."

"I _am_ worried," Barty says sharply, his thin fingers curling around Regulus' wrist. "You say something like that, then go back to just smoking and acting like nothing happened! Merlin, Reg!"

Regulus sighs and reaches for another cigarette. His pack is empty. It's going to be a long night, so maybe it won't hurt to confide in Barty. He needs something to keep him from losing his mind.

III.

He kneels before the Dark Lord with his arm outstretched. If only he could be braver; he hates himself for trembling like a frightened child. He feels pathetic.

The Dark Mark sears into his arm, its dark, coiling shape juxtaposed against his pale skin. Regulus wonders if he should feel proud of himself. Instead, there's just a heavy feeling in his chest, and his stomach seems to twist itself into knots. When he stands, Barty meets his gaze and grins. Regulus can't bring himself to smile back.

"I need a cigarette," Regulus murmurs when he joins his friend.

Barty snorts, bright eyes rolling. "Really? You just pledged your loyalty to the Dark Lord, and you're thinking about smoking?"

Regulus shrugs and shakes his head, his dark hair whipping against his face. Barty will never understand.

IV.

"Do you have to do that?" Barty asks when Regulus sits up naked in bed and reaches for his cigarettes.

"You felt amazing," Regulus says, fitting his lips around the filter and offering Barty an appreciative smile. "I'm celebrating."

Barty scowls and snatches the sheet roughly, wrapping it around his slender body. "If only you wanted me as badly as you want your smokes."

Regulus sighs. It isn't that he doesn't love Barty, but he has an addiction. Love is all good and well, but it doesn't quite touch the bliss that menthol and tobacco bring him.

He doesn't mention this, of course. Barty would undoubtedly take it the wrong way. Instead, he leans in, kissing his boyfriend's cheek. "I love you," he says.

Barty scowls, but he says it back.

V.

Regulus paces the length of the bedroom. He's lost track of how many cigarettes he's gone through, but, even with little more than the dim moonlight filtering in through the window, he can see the layer of ash litters the floor. He should probably feel guilty about that, but he has other things on his mind.

All he can think about is Kreacher's tale about the lake and the locket. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, he knows what this means and what he has to do.

"Reg?" Barty sits up in bed, yawning. "Come back to bed."

Regulus lifts his cigarette in response. He can't bring himself to verbally respond.

"Seems like you always have a cigarette in your hand," Barty groans before laying back down with an annoyed huff. "I'm going back to sleep, if you'd like to join me."

"In a second," Regulus says, though he knows it's a lie.

There will be no sleep tonight. If he doesn't act soon, he might lose his nerve.

With a sigh, Regulus reaches into his pocket, fingers feeling around the pack. There's only one cigarette left. How fitting, since there's a chance he will not be coming back.

As he smokes, he watches Barty sleep. Part of him wishes he could curl beneath that blanket and pretend things are still perfect, but he no longer has that luxury. The world has become such a fucked up place. Maybe it's too late for him to find absolution, but he can still make a difference.

When he smokes down to the filter, he sighs. There's no way to postpone it any longer.

VI.

It's almost funny. As cold fingers wrap around him and pull him under and icy water fills his lungs, Regulus doesn't think about how he'd like one last cigarette.

All he can see is Barty with those bright eyes and perfectly tidy hair.

Maybe he has another addiction after all. If only he had enjoyed it more while he had the chance.


End file.
